


Linked

by Quinny_Imp



Series: A Wolf and Three Crows [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Relationship(s), Trust, Zevris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 00:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19345759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_Imp/pseuds/Quinny_Imp
Summary: After a strange mage attack, Zevran and Fenris discover that some of their thoughts and feelings are unusual, and not really their own. They can sense each other's feelings and thoughts. Is it better to keep your darkest secrets to yourself, or to share them with someone who understands?





	Linked

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a little bit of an AU from my regular series. I haven’t decided if this happened or not. What I kept from my main story series is the relationship between Zevran and Fenris. Beside that, it’s a stand alone “what if” story.

Fenris ducked a fireball, and turned toward where it’d come from. How had he missed that damn mage?! He rushed toward the woman, flaring up his lyrium. Her glare became harder, and she curled up her arms, preparing another spell to throw at him. His long leaps brought him to her faster than she’d expected, and he swung his sword, trying to take her head off. She managed to stop it with some kind of magical barrier, but at least it also prevented her from finishing her spell. He wasn’t going to give her another chance. Another powerful swing, but she stepped out of his reach. It only angered him more.

He heard Zevran’s laughter. For some reason he could never comprehend, the Antivan often laughed when he fought. He loved combat. He loved using his skills to defeat opponents. Especially the ones who were bigger than him.

A sound behind him made him turn just in time to deflect a strike by one of slavers. He didn’t lower his sword yet, when his hand slid into the man’s chest. He easily pulled his heart out, solidifying his hand in its way out. The slaver fell with a wet thump.

Fenris caught Zevran’s eyes. For a second, they looked at each other. The Antivan winked at him, and returned his attention to one of slavers. Fenris turned back to the mage, who again was preparing some kind of time-consuming spell. She bubbled herself in a protective field, so he turned to another slaver, instead of wasting his time on her. He couldn’t touch her until the bubble expired.

There could be only two of them, but between their skills, Fenris’s lyrium, and Zevran’s dirty fighting the slavers had no chances. Dead in pools of their own blood, their bodies were scattered all over the ground.

Both elves looked at the mage. She was still in her safe bubble, but she couldn’t stay in it forever.

They waited.

The smirk on Zevran’s face amused Fenris.

Finally the bubble burst into nothingness, and they charged at her.

She cast another spell, and they both were thrown backwards. They landed in a heap, dazed and confused. Fenris had problems with clearing his mind. The world was a smudged mix of colours and unclear shapes. He heard Zevran grunt in pain or annoyance.

“What happened?” he heard the other elf’s voice.

“Are you all right?” he asked, crawling to him.

When he was close enough, he leant over Zevran. The Antivan had a small cut on his face, which was now covered by his long wisps. Fenris tried to move the hair away, and accidentally touched it with his thumb, which was covered by his own blood, now smeared all over Zevran’s injured cheek.

A sudden feeling of worry washed over him.

The mage! He turned toward her… but she was gone. She escaped.

He turned his attention back to Zevran, who closed his eyes. A moment later his own shut, and he slumped onto his love’s chest unconscious.

 

**

 

Zevran’s head hurt. Like hurt hurt. There was also something laying on him. Grunting, he slowly opened his eyes. He was on the ground, pressed to it by Fenris’s weight. He gently put his hand on the white mop of hair on his chest. He slid his fingers to the front of the other elf’s nose, and with relief felt his breathing.

‘A splendid nap,’ he thought. The fog started giving away, and he slowly recalled what had happened: they had gotten a word of a slaver group hunting Alienage elves, so they intercepted them. A fight had broken off, and a mage sent them tumbling on their behinds. ‘At least we’re alive!’

He patted the white hair. “Wakey wakey, mi amor!”

A moment later he heard a growl. He loved that growl. His ears perked every time Fenris opened his mouth to growl. Ears and more…

The Tevinter propped himself on his elbows, taking most of his weight off Zevran.

The Antivan was just about to ask how he felt, when suddenly, for a second, he felt an unusual sensation. Like his entire body was submerged in something thick. No, that wasn’t it. He had no idea how to describe that feeling, and it was gone so quickly he didn’t have a chance to ponder it for longer.

His mood also dropped. He didn’t know why. They were both alive, no? No reason to be upset.

“She got away,” Fenris grumbled, sitting up.

“The rest of them didn’t!” Zevran pointed cheerfully out.

The other elf looked around, and smiled the tiniest of grins. “No, they didn’t,” he agreed.

Zevran’s dark mood lifted away a bit.

They helped each other up. Fenris took Zevran’s chin and lifted it a bit to look at something on his cheek.

“Doesn’t look bad,” he said.

“My pretty face is cut?” the Antivan asked, and tried to touch. Fenris grabbed his hand to stop him.

Zevran felt a sudden wash of warmth. The Tevinter looked at him with those huge green eyes that made him resemble a mabari pup. “You’re still the most handsome elf in entire Thedas,” he murmured.

The Crow smiled. He pulled Fenris closer for a kiss. The unusual feeling of warmth got stronger, but also very comfortable. Calming. It gave him a feeling of safety.

 

**

 

The injury on Zevran’s cheek wasn’t bleeding any more, which calmed Fenris a bit. Now secured that the other elf’s safety wasn’t threatened, he allowed himself to slightly relax. The Antivan’s kiss felt hot, so for a moment he wondered if one of them didn’t run fever, but then he realised it was probably due to the heat of the battle they’d been in the middle of not so long ago.

Or maybe long. How much time had they lay here, passed out?

“This group of slavers is gone,” he said, reaching for his sword, “but that mage will find another one. There are always Tevinter soldiers who want to make a bit of coin on a side.”

“We find them all and kill them!”

Zevran’s cheerful voice was upbeat, and it made Fenris feel better. More optimistic. Lighter, in some strange way. Like some great weight was lifted off of him.

“Let’s get out of here. I need air,” he said.

Zevran picked up his daggers, sheathed them, and followed Fenris in a bouncy, full of energy walk. The Tevinter wondered where he took all that… bubbliness from.

They left the alley, and once the sun landed on his face, Fenris felt better. He noticed Zevran turned his head toward the sun. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed, a gentle smile, enjoying the moment. The warrior watched him with a soft frown. His emotions calmed down faster than usually, and he thought that it was the view: long golden hair surrounding soft, almost feminine features of the Antivan elf. Composure radiated from Zevran, and all he needed for that was sun.

The Crow’s big, round, honey-coloured eyes opened, and he looked at Fenris. The warrior’s head filled with a string of incomprehensible whispers he couldn’t make sense of. The Antivan’s full lips stretched in a smile, and he responded in kind. The whispers got louder, but he still couldn’t make out the words. It was one voice, but felt like many.

His ears played tricks on him.

“Let’s go home,” he said, and headed toward the tavern they stayed in.

 

**

 

They returned to their room in the tavern. They helped each other undress, and then checked their bodies for wounds. Fenris insisted to first deal with the cut on Zevran’s cheek, and the Antivan didn’t protest.

While the warrior cleaned the injury, Zevran watched his eyes. The lighter green flakes reflected the sun’s light, making them look a bit brighter than they in fact were. His eyelashes cast gentle shadows on darker, tired, softly wrinkled skin under his eyes. The Crow couldn’t help but smile, fully aware it could make the procedure he was being subjected to a bit more complicated.

“Can you stop grinning for a moment?” Fenris mumbled quietly.

But he couldn’t fool Zevran; under his grumpy words hid care. The Tevinter gently cleaned the wound, and while Zev could barely feel anything, something in him flinched every time his skin was about to be touched.

“Does it hurt?” Fenris asked softly.

“No. You are such a good healer I can’t feel anything.”

The warrior chuckled. “I want to make sure there won’t be any scar.”

“You wouldn’t feel affection for me, if I had a scar?” Zevran asked in an innocent voice.

Fenris only chuckled, immediately recognising it for what it was. A tease. “I will always love you,” he whispered.

The spoken words were soft, but the Antivan sensed fierceness behind them. Something more than just sweet talk.

“Now my turn, yes?” he said, when the Tevinter finished taking care of him.

He took the bandages and healing ointments off Fenris’s hands, then gently got to work.

By the time he was done, both their tummies noisily rumbled.

“I go and get some food,” the Antivan offered. “They have nice potato dishes here.” Before he even finished speaking, he felt a sudden craving for an apple pie. “Or maybe a few slices of apple pie, yes?”

Fenris nodded vigorously. “That sounds very good.”

Zevran headed for the door. He could hear the Tevinter mumbling something in his language, but the words faded as he was further away. He couldn’t understand them anyway, but they sounded content. Content Fenris meant content Zevran; that was enough.

After a good meal accompanied by good jokes, laughter, and happiness, they rested for the night.

 

**

 

The place was unknown to Zevran. It was lavish, elegant, and full of little items no one would miss but which could fetch a nice price.

If he only could get his hands on them. Alas, his hands were chained. Thick, heavy cuffs pulled his wrists to the ground. On his shoulders rested some kind of metal collar. He could barely see above it. It reminded him of collars that Qunari mages were forced to wear. A tall man held a chain that was attached to the front of the collar. He yanked it now, and Zevran almost fell over forward. He managed to regain his balance, but the little dance he had to perform amused the man, who laughed out loud, and pulled at the chain again. This time Zevran tried to be prepared, but it didn’t help to prevent much of the humiliating ‘dance’.

The man was unknown to him. Grey hair, beard, cruel little eyes. His clothes suggested he was a mage, but not just any mage: a Tevinter magister.

“Enough, my little pet?” he man asked him with contempt, then yanked the chain again.

What was this? Zevran was confused but also enraged. All he wanted was to stab this man in the face. Multiple times. His daggers would look really good sticking out of this human’s body.

The collar felt heavier with every moment. It pressed into his shoulders painfully, and each move of the chain made it worse. The mage pulled the chain low, and it felt like the collar would cut his arms off, so he had no choice: he had to kneel.

“Good little pet,” the mage ‘praised’ him in a voice full of derision and mockery.

Zevran tried to reach up to him, but didn’t have a chance. The human kicked the collar, it fell to its side, and due to its weight it took the elf with it. The mage neared, and his boots were right in front of Zevran’s face. A foot raised above his head–

And he woke up.

Bewildered, to looked around, blinking, and saw Fenris also sitting next to him in confusion. Did they wake up at the same time?

They looked at each other.

“Mi amor,” Zevran began quietly. He thought he knew what happened in that dream. “Mi amor… I had a weird dream.”

Fenris was looking at him with those huge, green eyes. “I dreamt of Danarius. One of those times he chained me like a _saarebas_ for his amusement. I wanted to fight, but with daggers. I… I don’t use daggers.”

“I do,” Zevran replied. His suspicions were just confirmed. “He pulled at the chain, and I… you… we fell. Did it really happen? Was it a memory or just a dream resembling a memory?”

“How could you…?” Fenris asked, but Zevran knew it was mostly to avoid answering his question.

There was a horrible truth hiding somewhere. He moved closer to his love, and put his hand on the Tevinter’s hand.

… _not like this. Fenhedis! When will it–_

Zevran jerked his hand away, and the string of thought was interrupted. Then, slowly, he put it back. He looked at Fenris’s face. All it expressed was panic. His drawn together in a painful frown eyebrows were sign of it enough, but now the Antivan could also _feel_ it. And it felt horrible.

He tried to concentrate on one thought: _I’_ _ll_ _never hurt you_. He pondered what had happened to them, and found it intriguing to get to know the man he loved so intimately. Not even the most crazy love stories he read had anything like that.

The other elf calmed down and little, and smiled. “I thought it was noises of the city. I thought I was tired. But it was you.” He whispered the last words. “It was you all along.” His smile widened but it was marred with bitterness. “And even now all your secrets are yours to keep.”

_Why?_

“Your thoughts are in Antivan.”

Zevran gave him a naughty smirk. “Maybe it’s better for you that way.”

“That position is not even possible!”

“I can prove you it is!”

Fenris laughed, but a moment later his chuckles died into a quiet, low rumble. “How is it possible?”

“Maybe that mage did something to us?”

Zevran felt a sudden rush of discomfort wash over him, but he couldn’t tell whether it was his feelings or Fenris’s. A moment later the discomfort transformed into disgust. Fenris’s, then. The Tevinter’s thoughts rushed into a rant how magic was the scorch of everything, peppered generously by curses in the trade language and Tevene.

“Shhh, shhh…” Zevran put his hands on Fenris’s cheeks, cupping his face. “Shhhh…”

The other elf glared at him, but quieted down. “I think it’s stronger now.”

The Antivan nodded in agreement. “I didn’t hear you when we touched earlier mending our wounds.”

“This is disconcerting.”

Zevran chuckled. “You read my mind and my positions! And you are embarrassed?”

“This is not a joke, Zevran. What if we stay like that forever?”

The Antivan moved closer, and gave him a long, deep kiss. “Would that be such a bad thing?” he asked softly.

Fenris didn’t want to hurt him, but the answer was still ‘yes’. However, the flow of emotions and chaotic thoughts and apologies and guilt explained it to Zevran better than words ever could: Fenris’s life was never his own, never belonged to him. Now he cherished his freedom, and being his own man. He enjoyed his privacy. And currently the most private part of him was exposed to someone else. It was not personal, but after being property for most of his life, he wanted his thoughts to remain his.

 _I wish I could undo it_ , Zevran smiled at him.

The Tevinter put his hand at the back of the other elf’s head. He neared his forehead, and they touched. _Don’t. It is done. You are the best partner I could dream of for this. No one would be better to share thoughts with._

They kissed. Then they kissed more.

That night was an experience neither of them could imagine. Fully shared bodies, minds, emotions, and pleasure. A perfect union.

Just before he fell asleep, Zevran concentrated of Fenris’s feelings. The Tevinter wasn’t as uncomfortable any more, and seemed more relaxed.

Finally slumber came, and took the Antivan with a smile on his face.

 

**

 

Fenris woke up early. He got up, trying not to disturb Zevran’s sleep, then grabbed what was left of the last night’s apple pie. It was still very good.

He glanced at the other elf. He wondered if all what had happened last night was just a dream, but he had a feeling it wasn’t. Not only it was much too detailed and clear in his memory, but also he had seen some powerful magic in his lifetime, and this wasn’t beyond what he imagined a mage skilled in blood magic could do. Their blood had mixed when his bloodied finger had touched Zevran’s cut cheek.

Now he was exposed. Completely, totally exposed. It was a blend of feeling violated, but at the same time relief that Zevran was the person who had this intimate look into his soul.

“You ate all the pie!”

“Sorry,” Fenris smiled. Zevran’s hair was a morning mess; a rare view.

The Antivan’s hands went to his head, as he tried to straighten and comb his mane with his fingers. He was embarrassed, but the Tevinter hoped that he could also sense in his eyes he looked cute. Nothing to be ashamed of.

Zevran’s face brightened with a smile. “Cute?”

“I’ll bring you some food,” Fenris said, standing up and heading for the door. “Maybe the owner has a few more tips, too.”

He fetched a few sandwiches. While downstairs, he realised he couldn’t sense Zevran any more. He had to make a choice on sandwiches all by himself.

Funny, how in a way he grew accustomed to the convenience of their shared bond. It could prove a useful tool when planning tactics and adapting mid-combat.

Before going back to the room, he also asked if there was any news on another slaver raid.

 

**

 

Fenris returned to the room with food with a pitcher of water.

“I missed you,” Zevran giggled. “I felt so lonely!”

“I noticed it too,” Fenris nodded.

“See, there is nothing to worry about! When you’re tired of me, you can go far far away and–” Zevran didn’t finish. The sudden, strong flush of panic and ‘NO!’ from Fenris was clear. “I was joking, mi amor,” he said hastily.

“I know. I know.”

He knew indeed. But the thought of being away still made him feel in such a way… Zevran was both delighted to feel the same way, and a bit surprised and terrified. It was still very strange to him. He knew it was all right, all as it should be, but also a small part of him screamed it was wrong and shouldn’t exist. He felt the same way the first time he’s fallen in love. The Crow training was hard to shake off.

For a moment, they looked at each other in amused confusion. Zevran knew what was happening in Fenris’s head; his Crow past reminded the other elf about his own experiences, and past aversion to getting close to anyone, especially physically.

And now he nearly panicked at the thought of them being separated and never see each other again.

“This is weird, no?” the Antivan mumbled.

“The world is full of wonders,” Fenris sighed.

“Ah, Wonders of Thedas! There was that place–”

“No, please no.”

Zevran laughed, but didn’t continue. Fenris already knew everything that had crossed his mind on the subject of the famous Antivan whorehouse, and probably wished he didn’t.

They sat down to have their meal, and ate in silence. Or rather, saying nothing. They didn’t really communicate, but Zevran revelled in Fenris’s feelings. He loved the experience, and wished it wasn’t unpleasant to the other elf.

He loved Fenris. In spite of his grumpiness, short temper, moodiness, dry sense of humour, he loved him with all his passionate Antivan heart. He always knew there was much more to the Tevinter, and enjoyed every moment the other elf lowered his guard to let him in.

Now the guard was gone. He didn’t mean to intrude, he didn’t mean to sneak in like an assassin in stealth, but he couldn’t stop concentrating on all the wonders that Fenris was. Zevran’s silly jokes really amused him. The frown hid a lot of pain, but also a lot of vulnerability. The Antivan wished so much he could take the pain away. He’d absorb it, and never let Fenris be bothered by it again.

“You’re staring at me,” the other elf said dryly.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Fenris only let the air out, but now Zevran knew he was amused. And flattered. And slightly embarrassed. The warrior was unaccustomed to receiving compliments, and even now after hearing them so often from Zevran, he was still a little squirmish. And surprised. He was always surprised.

Fenris threw a glance in his direction, and Zevran realised he had to ‘hear’ all these thoughts.

The Tevinter neared his face to his. “Is that a blush?” he asked frowning in concentration, studying the Antivan’s cheeks.

“What? No, Zevran Arainai doesn’t blush. No, ser, no blushing here!”

Fenris smirked, and Zevran felt rather than heard laughter bubbling in him.

“I got another tip,” the warrior said.

“The same mage, perhaps?”

“Maybe. Hard to tell, but the owner said the man who gives him that info suspects that this is a part of a more organised operation.”

“We’d need to cut the head off, then, yes?”

“Preferably.”

“Mmm, chop chop!”

 

**

 

They headed to a shady district of the town. Vagrants, beggars, drunks. Most of them elves, Fenris noted with disgust and disappointment.

“It’s not their fault,” Zevran said.

“I am aware of that,” the warrior barked in reply, annoyed. “I still don’t have to like the situation they’re trapped in.” _We’re trapped in_.

High above the roofs they could see a tip of a big, tall tree.

“We must be close to the local Alienage,” the Antivan noted. “Makes sense. It’s a territory ripe to harvest for slavers.”

“I hate Alienages,” Fenris mumbled more to himself than to Zevran.

“I think every elf does,” the other elf smirked. The Tevinter felt a lot of sadness behind his laconic words.

“Supposedly, they take this route in and out of their hideout.”

“Shall we find a place to hide?” Zevran asked.

They located a convenient spot that gave them almost full view on the narrow street, but kept them mostly hidden. Unless someone knew to look into their dark spot, their presence should not be revealed until they chose to do so.

They sat not exchanging words, but not in silence. Fenris could hear Zevran’s careful study of their surroundings. Partially in Antivan, partially in images, partially in barely formed plans and possibilities. The warrior had no idea that the Crow’s mind could be so focused. Zevran appeared reckless but the truth was a lot more complicated. His training showed, and his instincts were undeniable: this was a professional at work, even when just sitting and waiting.

The Antivan glanced at him, and smiled. It wasn’t a smirk, or a joking grin. It was a soft, lovely smile of someone who felt… admired.

Fenris thought that this feelings connection had its positive side. They could finally ‘tell’ each other what they could never express with words.

Zevran’s attention returned to his work, while the warrior just patiently waited.

A cat elegantly passed by, watching them closely.

Then they heard a noise. Some sort of commotion. Voices. Two shouting. And a sound of something that always sent shivers down Fenris’s spine: chains.

Finally they saw the cause of all that: a group of heavily armed men and women led two strings of chained elves.

Fenris felt a flash of hot anger which almost immediately disappeared. No, not disappeared, but was stifled. He looked at Zevran. The Antivan raised his head to look back at him, and smiled a lovely, cheerful smile.

“Don’t push it away, I felt it,” the warrior said. “You hide your scars under your tattoos. You also hide them behind your cheerful voice.” He looked into Zevran’s eyes. “But they’re deep.”

“Dwelling on them gives me nothing,” the Antivan replied slightly irritated. “I choose to look ahead, not behind. You could try that too.” He put his hand on the Tevinter’s cheek. “You can learn to do that,” he said softer. “You just need a reason. You don’t have to look behind, you can safely look ahead now, yes?”

But the feeling of uneasiness bothered Fenris. Not Zevran’s attempt at hiding it, but the fact that it existed. The anger, the fury that burnt in his heart was mixed with a lot of pain. Pain he covered up, and buried deep, pretending it didn’t exist, but it was there, and had just found its way out for a moment, when he saw the suffering of the chained elves. Growing up in a cage, trained to be a murderer, and painfully punished for the smallest mistakes. It all flashed by in a split second, but felt like a hammer.

How could this sunshine had grown from such a stinky pit of misery, Fenris wondered.

Zevran didn’t deny it. He knew there was no sense in doing it. His smile faded a bit for a moment, then regained its brightness. “We have a task to do, yes?”

“Yes,” Fenris gave in… for the moment.

They waited for the group to pass by, then quietly sneaked behind them. With his usual skill, Zevran soundlessly killed one of the guards at the rear. Fenris flared up, and took care of the other one.

That, however, drew attention of people in front. The elves tried to hide in panic, pulling at each other’s chains, tripping over each other, falling, and causing more chaos with each second. It was both convenient, since it made the slavers’ work to defend themselves harder, and terribly bad, since many of the elves could fall victim to the fight. Neither Zevran nor Fenris wanted any of them hurt.

“Ewww, that’s disgusting!” the Antivan shouted, laughing, when Fenris’s hand was doing its usual business inside a slaver’s chest.

The Tevinter made a swing with his sword, and was just about to take a few heads off, when a little girl stumbled in front of him. She screamed, seeing the elf charging, and he tried to stop himself. The weight of the sword pulled him forward, and he did his best not to hit her, while she stood there, frozen in fear. That gave the true enemies time to regroup, and he felt a powerful punch at his back. He fell forward, partially pulled to the ground by his own weapon, partially because of the attack. He managed to roll to his back only to see a Tevinter soldier raising his sword to pin him to the ground permanently.

One of the elves yanked the chain he had attached to his wrists. It connected her with another elf who was on the other side of the slaver. The chain raised from the ground, and pulled the legs out from under the soldier. Fenris rolled away from under the sword’s sharp end, and a moment later a dagger lodged itself in the slaver’s eye, followed by Zevran’s victorious laughter.

In the meantime, someone pulled the child away, and by the time Fenris was back on his legs, the way to finished off the slavers was open.

“What… who are you?” one of the captives asked, when both Zevran and Fenris were busy freeing them after all Tevinters lay dead at their feet.

“Nobody,” the warrior replied.

“You’re safe now. Go home,” Zevran said.

When they were all gone, after expressing their thanks, and several of them inviting both elves for a meal, Fenris gave Zevran a serious look. “It won’t be safe until we find and kill them all.”

“They were headed over there,” the Antivan pointed in the direction the whole group had been headed before their attack.

“Let’s check it out!”

What they found was a huge, empty warehouse.

“Someone is going to come here to pick their… merchandise,” Zevran frowned.

“Hard to tell when, though,” Fenris replied, eyeing big cages. He had no doubts what was their purpose: to keep the elves locked in, and unable to escape.

“Ugh, this reminds me the slaver business in Denerim during the Fifth Blight.” The Antivan’s nose wrinkled in unhidden disgust. “We stopped them, but I’m sure not soon enough.”

“These are empty now,” Fenris’s own expression mirror’s Zevran’s. “We are too late for some too.”

The Crow watched the other elf intensively. “I was no aware the lyrium flaring is… feels that way,” he said eventually.

“It serves me well,” the warrior tried to dismiss it. But he already knew Zevran wasn’t going to give up.

“But…”

“I know what you want to say, and you know I don’t want to talk about it,” Fenris grumbled. “So why don’t you just drop it?”

“But…”

“Shall we rather chat about your hidden feelings? About memories you push away? About the horrible things the Crows forced you to do? About how they–” He abruptly silenced.

This is not how he wanted to fight back Zevran’s insistence. But when he mentioned things the Crow had been forced to do, the other elf’s thoughts went to a very dark, disturbing memory. Fenris barely got a glimpse of it before Zevran took it back into oblivion of his secrets, but it was enough.

The Antivan looked away. This was true embarrassment. He felt shame, but Fenris knew it wasn’t because it had been revealed, but because he’d convinced himself it was all right. He had a pretty face, he used it, the scars were part of the job, no different than after cuts made by weapons.

But for that second Fenris knew.

He went to Zevran, and hugged him. He thought of a similar experience from his past. He hated it. He tried not to think of it. He wanted to forget it. But right now he understood Zevran better than the rogue could imagine.

He only wished he could kill that man the same way he’d killed Danarius.

After another moment of heavy silence, Zevran smiled sweetly. “We return to the tavern. Then we come here tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. Until they stop coming, or we find their boss. Yes?”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed, nodding.

“And let’s not talk about it again, yes?” the Antivan added seriously, walking toward the door.

He meant it. It was pushed to the bottom of his memories, and he wanted it to stay there. The Tevinter thought that maybe he should learn to do the same.

 

**

 

“I’m sorry,” Fenris said.

They were back in their room in the tavern, having a nice meal.

“Naughty, naughty,” Zevran wriggled his finger at him.

Right, he didn’t want to talk about it. The warrior felt he needed to apologise anyway. And now the matter was closed.

The Antivan pushed his empty plate away, then neared Fenris. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Does what hurt?”

Zevran fetched their healing kit, took a small piece of fabric, dampened it in a bit of brandy, then touched to Fenris’s ear. The warrior hissed. “It does now!”

“I’ll kiss when I’m done, and it will stop.”

The Tevinter chuckled. “Healing lips?”

“Why yes! Full, soft, pouty, healing. I’m this magnificent!”

“I’ll take it, then,” Fenris said in a grumpy voice, but really amused by the conversation. And this time he knew for certain Zevran knew he was laughing inside.

“Of course you do. You cannot tell ‘no’ to me. I’m too pretty for that!”

“The reason I can’t tell ‘no’ to you is a lot more deeper than just your face,” the warrior said softly.

Zevran lowered his eyes, blushing. “I… I know.” A moment later he regained his composure and usual sass. “I shall use it against you!”

“You laugh, you joke, you act like it’s nothing,” Fenris said, “but it’s… everything.”

He watched Zevran’s face for reaction, but there was nothing more than a naughty smile. Under it, however, was a volcano of emotions. Of love.

“Ha ha ha! I’m Antivan! Naturally, I’m filled with wild, hot affection!”

Fenris only smiled at him. The volcano just exploded. All raw feelings covered by a joke, coated in words that made the other elf feel less exposed, but right now the Tevinter knew and felt everything that hid deep in Zevran’s heart.

It felt good to be so precious to someone. Extremely strange, but so good.

The Antivan’s smile grew bigger. He leant to Fenris, and kissed him, then pulled closer to his body, and kissed deeper. He gladly made the other elf feel precious and worthy.

They made love that night, but couldn’t separate their feelings any more. Their passions, pleasure, emotions blended, enhanced by the other’s own impressions.

 

**

 

On the third day their wait finally ended.

When they neared the warehouse, they heard shouting inside. At first they were too far to understand, but as they got closer, the words were easier to make out.

Someone was really angry that there were only empty cages in the warehouse. A day earlier Zevran and Fenris had stopped another group, and freed a few dozen captives. Clearly, it ruined someone’s plans of getting rich.

Both elves looked at each other and smiled. If they were lucky, this would be the head of the entire operation, and Zevran could feel Fenris was looking forward to cutting it off.

The Crow gave the other elf a sign to wait, then climbed boxes and crates to a small window that was high in the wall of the warehouse. He saw seven people in armour, and a mage. The same one that they had already fought. He turned to Fenris, and made a motion with his hands, trying to silently tell him who was inside. They were too far to read thoughts word for word, so instead he made a gesture to show a big bosom, a big behind, long hair, and an approximation of casting a spell.

Fenris’s frown told him the other elf had no idea what it was about, and was also so cute that Zevran had to stifle a giggle.

He quietly climbed down. He touched the Tevinter’s shoulder. _Your favourite mage is there_.

The warrior’s nose wrinkled in contempt. The sneer on his face reflected his feelings perfectly.

They entered the warehouse. Not as silently as they hoped; the old door drew attention. The mage immediately bubbled herself, shouting to the others, “Try to catch the tall one alive!”

Fenris’s feelings raged with fury, and Zevran thought that her words were a certain way to assure her death. The Antivan thought that he was going to try to leave her to the warrior. As a gift. Slaying a blood mage slaver would be such a nice treat for him.

For now she was bubbled, so untouchable, which Zevran found a tactical mistake. She stood there, not casting another spell, while they picked her men one by one – or wholesale, in Fenris’s case, since his sword could cut entire groups of people – thus taking away any protection she had. Eventually, her bubble would expire, and she’d be left alone with two very angry elves. Apparently, they didn’t teach tactics in blood magic school. Not smart.

Zevran felt a sharp pain on his arm, but there was nothing. First he looked at the mage. Maybe she’d cast a spell on him. But no. Then he saw Fenris’s arm bleeding from a sword cut. He dashed toward the slaver, which was attacking him, without thinking, and savagely stabbed him multiple times. He’d exposed his back to his own target, but the warrior had that under control.

They worked in synergy. Like two bodies with one mind.

One final soldier, after realising only he and the mage were still alive, made his try at escape, but even his long human legs were not enough to beat Fenris’s speed.

The warehouse’s floor was covered by bodies, blood, and human waste. Some people just didn’t die in dignity. Or maybe it was the poison Zevran had coated his daggers with. The mage still stood bubbled. Both elves approached her slowly, patiently, with smug looks on their faces. She had no chances. Even in a barely possible event of killing one of them, she wouldn’t both before dying.

Unless she set them on fire or froze them or…

Fenris glared at him. _Stop it!_

If she could, why didn’t she when they were busy fighting? Care for her men? Doubtful. She didn’t do anything to help them either, and now all lay dead at her feet.

She rolled her eyes in panic. Her bubble was getting weaker. Fenris flared up, sending shivers down Zevran’s spine. She didn’t have enough time to do absolutely anything when he bubble burst. Fenris’s hand moved so quickly the Antivan saw only a blur. He was in her chest. He looked her in the eyes. “The tall one doesn’t go anywhere with you!” he barked angrily, and pulled red pulp out of her body. She fell to the floor with a thud. He squeezed her heart in his gloved, spikey hand until it burst just like her bubble.

“Feeling better?” Zevran asked.

Then froze. He couldn’t tell.

Fenris looked at him, calming down after the heat of the fight. A moment later his eyebrows raised in a slight surprise. He noticed that too.

Their bond was gone. The Crow felt sadness mixed with disappointment. He got used to sharing himself with this love. He enjoyed this closeness. It was a connection like no other.

But now it was over. It felt like a hole, something was missing. Lost.

He looked at Fenris.

The Tevinter gave him a soft smile. “I’m going to miss you too.”


End file.
